


Wardens of the Grey: Origins

by BurningLizard



Series: Wardens of the Grey [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: All Origins, F/M, Grey Wardens, Multi-Origin, Multi-Warden, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningLizard/pseuds/BurningLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan travels through Ferelden seeking new Warden recruits. Just one recruit isn't going to cut it, he needs a team of skilled young people if Ferelden is to stand any chance. Unfortunately he got:</p><p>-Aedan Cousland, a bon-vivant with a weakness for women, who only wants to avenge his family.<br/>-Daylen Amel, a circle mage with a helping heart and a penchant for indiscriminate destruction.<br/>-Neria Surana, a healer obsessed with romance novels and unprepared for life outside the tower.<br/>-Kallian Tabris, a city elf who long ago decided to take the justice denied her people into her own hands.<br/>-Theron Mahariel, a Dalish elf who just wants to end the blight so he can return to his clan.<br/>-Natia Brosca, a casteless dwarf tasting real freedom for the first time.<br/>-Duran Aeducan, an elitist dwarf noble who only cares for his own honor and the traditions of his people. </p><p>It's not much, but it's better than nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elvhen

The warm summer evening air was soothing, a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the day. As Theron carried the buck carcass he had downed it seemed to him that there was still a hint of the oppressive atmosphere from earlier. Their clan had barely arrived in Ferelden after traveling in Antiva, intending to spend the rest of the summer in Ferelden as the Halla migrated south to escape the northern heat.

The air was heavy with pollen, and while the summer warmth was no match to the northern heat, the clan still spent most of the daytime resting, to avoid heat exhaustion. Theron and Tamlen had not been able to leave until significantly later in the day than they were used to go hunting. Already the sun was setting, but it mattered little, they had caught dinner for the next several days. Possibly less if the other hunters were unsuccessful. Game was sparse and chances of the others returning empty handed were good. 

Theron noticed Fenarel standing by the campfire, there was a distinct lack of butchered meat around him.

“No luck I take it?” Tamlen called out to their fellow hunter. 

“No,” Fenarel said. “I almost had a doe, but she managed to escape me. But I see you had luck.”

Theron kept walking to where Junar was butchering a brace of rabbits. 

“At least the traps worked,” Theron said.

Junar nodded. “At least it’s something,” he said.

Theron set about skinning and butchering the buck, setting aside the fur and other inedible parts for later. He made certain that he kept the antlers. Some of the children had been begging him for some new toys, and he was all too happy to oblige. He was deciding what he would carve the antlers to while he cut the meat from the body. Carefully setting aside the stomach and innards while he worked on the actual meat. The insides would be chopped up and cooked inside the buck’s stomach—after it had been cleaned out of course—to make a hearty meal that was always a favorite of his. 

Theron made quick work of the buck, while Tamlen set to curing the skin. “This would make a good cover don’t you think?” 

Looking over at the pelt, Theron shook his head. “No,” he said. “I want something more special. Like a wolf pelt, or better yet a bear pelt.”

“Good luck with that,” Tamlen said. “I haven’t seen a bear in weeks. Merrill is going to freeze in the meanwhile.”

Theron muttered. “I’m not having Merrill bed on a deer fur. I’m the best hunter in the clan, I’m not laying anything less than a bear pelt over our wedding bed.”

“You know she doesn’t care, right?” Tamlen said.

“I care,” Theron said. “Any less would be an insult to her.”

Tamlen sighed. “You’re being too stubborn. The two of you could have been wed long ago if it weren’t for your obsession with bear pelts.”

“Tamlen,” Theron said. “I refuse to start my marriage by letting my wife know that she wasn’t worth my full effort. I want her to know that I’d do anything for her.”

“Pretty sure she already knows that Lethallin,” Tamlen said. “Speaking of which…”

Theron looked up from the carcass he was almost done dismantling. Merrill, First to their Keeper, and the love of his life, was walking through the trees to the butchering station. 

“Ma vhenan you’re back!”

Smiling, Theron stood up from his work. He made as to take her in his arms, but she laughed and danced out of his reach. “I am happy to see you too,” Merrill said. “But you should get washed first, or I’ll end up looking like a murder victim.”

He smirked at his bloody hands. Not nearly as bloody as they would be if he was a less skilled butcher, but still too bloody to be touching Merrill. 

“If I must,” he mock sighed. 

“I think that might be best,” Merrill said. 

There was a stream, downriver from the camp, where all the washing was done. The fast running water would wash the blood downstream, keeping their source of water pure. At least as long as there were no clans washing upstream. Theron ripped off his armor, leaving himself in his small-clothes. He had worked up a sweat throughout the day, so he could use the wash anyway. Stepping into the stream, he washed away the blood and sweat. Taking a deep breath, he dove under the water, trying to rub off as much of the grime on his back as possible. Once he could breath no longer he swam upward, breaking the surface of the water with a great splash. 

There was a shriek, and then a giggle, as the waves his surfacing created splashed onto the shore. Theron grinned, casually splashing more water towards Merrill, who was standing on the shore with her robe mostly undone.

“Are you here to make sure I wash behind my ears?” 

Merrill laughed. “And all the rest of you. I know how you think. Quick splash and you’re good as clean you think.” 

She slipped out of her robe, a sensual smile on her face. Taking several steps back she took a running jump into the river, the splash completely covered Theron. As his head broke the surface of the water, he laughed, rubbing his eyes clear. 

“If you’re going for seductive, emma lath,” Theron said. “I think you need some more practice.”

Theron realized Merrill had not yet surfaced. In fact, he could not see here anywhere. 

“Merrill?” He called, looking around. She was a good swimmer, so she would not be…

Bare arms snaked around his chest, he felt her body press against his back. 

“And how about now?” Merrill whispered into his ear.

“Better,” Theron smirked, turning around to face her.

—-

The air stunk of rotten fish and bad cheese. Or at least Kallian hoped it was cheese. This close to the alienage and the docks the shem didn’t much care for waste management. Who cared if a few knife ears had to live with the stench? It was a sad fact of reality that none would raise a finger to help them. They couldn’t even be bothered to clean their own messes.

So, Kallian felt somewhat justified when she took cleaning the mess into her own hands.

It was dangerous, so very dangerous. If she was found out not only she but her entire family would be put to death. But after years of scrapping and kneeling to Shem guards just so they would leave her family alone, Kallian had finally had enough. Besides, the danger was half the thrill.

The other half was the actual kill.

She wore a patched mixture of grays and browns, some greens and blues, all colors that would blend in to the dirty darkness of Denerim’s dock district. Her hood and mask were made up of the same patches. There was no black on her, it would stand out far too obviously against the darkness. The night was not pitch black, it was a patchwork of dark colors, but never pure black. 

Her clothes allowed her to escape unnoticed, but there had been times when she slipped up and was spotted. Hence the hood and the mask, which were the only reason no one knew she was an elf. The fact that she had been given a name, The Patchcloth Killer, was an added bonus. 

Kallian strained her ears for any sounds, everything was slightly muffled under the hood, but the last thing she wanted was to uncover her ears and be spotted. There were only so many elves in Denerim, and the authorities would not care if they arrested the wrong person. 

A sound. A muffled sob. Kallian crept through the shadows until she came across a revolting scene. 

A sailor, clearly drunk, was forcing a woman against the alley wall. Judging by what was left of her torn clothing she was most likely a prostitute.

Odd, Kallian thought. Most of the prostitutes know to avoid this part of town after dark. She must be new.

Many women would come to Denerim from villages all across Ferelden, hoping for a better life. It was not an uncommon story that those without the funds, or those that weren’t cautious with their money, ended up either working in the Pearl or walking the streets. 

The woman tried to escape, but the sailor grabbed her hair, forcing her to the ground, exposing her pointed ears. 

Ah, Kallian thought. That explains it.

More often than not elf streetwalkers that weren’t cautious found themselves the targets of men that were unwilling to pay even their low prices. 

Kallian slipped unseen behind the assailant. Her daggers, their shine dulled with paint, struck. 

Once. 

Twice. 

She was gone before the sailor fell. Dead. 

Kallian was up on the rooftops by the time the woman realized what had happened, and made the foolish mistake of screaming. 

Shouldn’t have done that, Kallian sighed. A dead human, found with an elf woman. There was no way anyone would believe her story. She would most likely be arrested for the crime, unless she had the sense to run. Or, if she was really lucky the murder would be linked to the Patchcloth Killer. 

Kallian did not stick around to find out. The Shem was dead. The whore would have to take care of herself from here. If she couldn’t, she would not last long in this city. Eventually she would be lying facedown in a gutter in some rancid back alley of this wretched Shem city. 

Stalking off into the night, Kallian searched for more prey. The rage inside her demanded feeding. Killing Elf abusing Shems just wasn’t enough. She would never be rid of this hatred until…

She was not sure what she was waiting for. Kallian knew that at some point it would be enough. But when that time was, or what she even wanted she did not know. She had considered running away, joining the Dalish, escaping Shem oppression. But her family would not hear a word of it. And so she stayed for them.

And so she killed. To protect them. To avenge them. To avenge her whole people. One dead Shem for thousands of years of oppression. It hardly seemed fair.

Deeper into the maze of the Denerim back alleys, Kallian found herself coming up to an interesting development. They were near the port, the men that she was observing. They were moving cargo of some kind. Kallian tried to make out what goods were being moved. But it hardly mattered. Whatever it was, there was only one reason to move cargo after dark. Smuggling.

One of the Shem seemed familiar, it was hard to tell in the dark, but there was more than enough light for Kallian’s eyes to eventually adjust. Young Vaughan Kendels. The son of the Arl of Denerim. 

Curious. What was a Shem lordling doing with smugglers? 

It mattered not. Kallian saw an opportunity. Vaughan was known as a sadistic bastard in all of Denerim. And nowhere was that more obvious than in the alienage. He did not consider the elves as citizens. To him they were his property. There were rumors about his proclivities, but Kallian had never been able to confirm them.

Again, it mattered not. Vaughan was a right bastard, and no one decent would miss him. Especially when the poor lordling found himself at the business end of a smuggler’s knife. Cut down in the prime of his youth because of his own recklessness. 

Kallian slid a knife from her sleeve. 

She was just out of the shadows when she heard the sound. Approaching footsteps. Heavy boots, bearing the load of a heavy suit of armor. Kallian froze. Vaughan turned at the approaching noise, and froze when he caught sight of Kallian, taking in the ragged cloak, made of patches and holes. Her face was covered by the deep hood, but Vaughan knew what he was looking at.

“It’s him!” He screamed, as the light of the night watchman’s lantern illuminated the scene. “The Patchcloth Killer!”

‘Him’? Kallian frowned. Of course, it couldn’t possibly be a women murdering all you shem scumbags. That would be unheard of.

The watchman, who had been approaching the smuggling operation, turned and froze at the sight of Kallian. It gave her just enough time to dive into the alley. 

“Stop!” She heard the man yell. The heavy clatter of plate armor pursued her. Kallian ducked down an intersecting corner, leaping upon a crate and up onto the roof. She kept moving, jumping from roof to roof, further into the city. She dove through the window of what she hoped was an abandoned attic and waited for the sound of pursuit to die down.

She would be stuck up here for some time. The Denerim Watch wanted her bad. Not that she could blame them. At least one victim each week, that they knew of. Some of them high ranking citizens known for being cruel towards their elven servants. She had caused an uproar over the past several months. If they knew who she was, if they actually caught her, they would not stop at executing her. Her entire family. Her friends. Anyone she cared about. There would be retribution for this. Kallian considered it a fair trade. After everything the Shem had done to her kind, she thought her kills barely even made a drop in the sea of Elven blood spilled. 

Once the sounds of pursuit had died down, Kallian risked standing up to take stock of her surroundings. The attic was abandoned, as she had originally suspected. If there was anyone living in the rooms below, Kallian was certain she had not made any noise. Old furniture littered the room, a few chests lay temptingly locked. Kallian knelt beside one, tempting her luck with a lock pick.

She had stolen the set on a whim, but without anyone to teach her how to use them she quickly found that picking locks was beyond her skill. With a sigh she abandoned the chests, forever wondering what may lie within. 

The furniture looked like it was quite high quality, solid and old, still usable despite what the layers of dust suggested had been a long time without seeing any use. She wondered who the house belonged to, Kallian did not think she had wandered into any of the higher class neighborhoods. A great deal of this furniture could be worth something to the right buyer. Her family needed to eat after all. She mentally traced the route she had taken, standing by the window to take in the surrounding landmarks. 

As she was about to leave, a chance glint of reflected moonlight off metal caught her eyes. Kallian stepped away from the window, kneeling down among the pile of what at first glance appeared to be rubbish. But a little digging and dusting revealed a silver locket hidden among the refuse. Rubbing across its surface with her thumb revealed the luster beneath. It was shaped in the the form of a feather. Kallian held it up to the moonlight, admiring its delicate form. Finally she slipped it into one of her pockets. Intending to sell it, but part of her could not resist the urge to keep it for herself. 

With one last glance around the room Kallian turned and slipped out of the window.


	2. Teyrnir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Aedan Cousland, privileged scion of one of Ferelden's oldest and most powerful families. He likes adventure stories and making a name for himself. But he's an okay guy all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay folks, welcome to chapter 2. Just as a matter of business before we start here, you’ll be noticing that this second chapter is being posted half a week after the first chapter. This will only be the case for the first four chapters, which are meant to be quick introductions to the Wardens’ characters and personalities. After this we’ll get into the actual plot of the game, and I’ll be writing significantly longer chapters. Once we get to that point I’ll be updating once a week, on Wednesdays. But for now I thought the short chapters I’ve got aren’t enough to satisfy readers if I post them once a week only. So just a heads up.  
> Also, my main goal here is to write this story in a way that even people that haven’t played the game can enjoy the story. So if you think I’m succeeding at that or not as we go along, let me know.

High blow. Block. Divert. Strike.

Low blow. Parry. Thrust.

Uppercut. Deflect. Pommel strike. Trip.

Like so many times before, Ser Gilmore found himself flat on his back in the dusty training grounds of Castle Highever, the point of an oversized greatsword waster aimed directly at his neck.

“Ow,” he groaned. “I think we need new padding on the training armor, my lord.”

“I did not hit you that hard,” Aedan Cousland said, reaching down to help his friend back onto his feet. “You just tripped. Awful clumsy of you.”

“Yes,” Ser Gilmore said, sardonically. “How dare I trip over that foot you put behind my ankle.”

“I am your lord after all,” Aedan said. “This is my damn ground, I put my feet where I want. It’s your business to know where my feet are at all times.”

“I refuse to do that,” Ser Gilmore said. “I know what your feet get up to at night.”

The two men stared each other down. Finally, they broke into guffaws. 

“As if you didn’t wish your feet were up to the same thing at night,” Aedan said. “Speaking of which.” 

He gestured over to the small group of girls that had gathered along the fence surrounding the training grounds. Aedan pointed one out in particular. He didn’t recognize her, but she looked like a servant. She had flaming red hair, done up in a pair of braids, held back by a white cloth covering her head. Her face was fairly heavily freckled, most people would consider it unattractive, but to Aedan it was just another feature, no better or worse than if she had big breasts or small breasts. In her case her noticeably large bosom helped her attractiveness significantly. Her clothes were well maintained, the servants in Highever were well taken care of, and modestly cut. Smart girl, he thought, she’s heard about the Teyrn’s youngest son and wasn’t trying to attract any attention. Or at least, not Aedan’s attention that was. 

She was watching Ser Gilmore, trying not to be obvious about it, but to Aedan’s experienced eye she may as well have been holding a sign with Ser Gilmore’s face painted on it above her head. 

“I think that one fancies you,” Aedan said to Gilmore.

“Right,” Gilmore said. “She fancies me, and not the dashing Teyrn’s son.”

“No I’m quite sure,” Aedan said. “She’s been watching you this whole time. You should have seen her expression when you went down. Quite worried she was. Also, thank you for the compliment.”

“What, really?” Gilmore started to turn to look at her. Aedan grabbed his shoulder to stop him.

“Don’t turn around, she’ll see you looking at her.”

Ser Gilmore was a loyal retainer, and one of Aedan’s best friends. Few men could match the respect owed to a Teyrn’s son, with the willingness to actually try to defeat him during training. And to talk back to him when it was needed.

“Look,” Aedan said. “She’s obviously interested in you. And that means she’s a smart girl. She’s interested in you, not me. Means she’s looking for something stable, something more than a one night roll in the Antivan silk. You should go talk to her. Maybe if things work out there will be a litter of red haired brats running around.” Aedan smirked. “And if not, then let me know. I can only say no to a pair of breasts like that for so long.”

He laughed at Ser Gilmore’s expression. “I’m joking,” Aedan said. “But do go talk to her before someone less considerate swoops her up. Like drunk me. He’s an ass. And I hear he’s coming to visit this evening.”

Aedan gave Ser Gilmore a light shove in the direction of the girl. He watched for a moment as Gilmore approached her. Aedan could read their body language. Gilmore was nervous. The girl was surprised, and doubly nervous. Aedan left it at that, he had his own admirers to attend to.

—-

Dinnertime arrived and drunk Aedan had not made an appearance yet. But he did have an after dinner appointment with a perky blonde, whose breasts rivaled those of Gilmore’s girl, and who had no reservations about flaunting her assets in front of Aedan. He was a weak man, and he knew it. A little bare skin and he was easily molded wax in a woman’s hands. This one in particular knew the effectiveness of her expanse of creamy skin, and made sure that it was in full view of him at all times as they were talking.

He would have to put thoughts of her aside until after dinner. Somehow Mother could tell when his mind was lingering on a woman. And the Teyrna could scold with the best of them. No point in denying it, she would say. She knew what he was thinking. 

Dinner was gamefowl, pheasant Aedan believed. Normally he would have paid a great deal more attention to the food. But not tonight. Tonight he was focused on the discussion between his father and elder brother. 

“Are the troops organized?” Teyrn Bryce Cousland was asking Fergus.

“They are, father,” Fergus answered. “Ready and waiting for Arl Howe’s forces.”

Bryce turned to Aedan. “And how about you, pup. Is everything in order with the castle for our departure?”

For a moment Aedan hoped that the ‘our’ was referring to the three of them. Then reality set in and he sighed. 

“Yes father,” he said. “Everything is ready and in order for me to run it into the ground.”

“Aedan,” Eleanor, his mother, scolded.

“Don’t mind him mother,” Fergus laughed. “At worst there will just be significantly fewer virgins in the Teyrnir by the time we get back.”

Aedan chuckled as Oriana, Fergus’ wife, scolded her husband. 

“What’s a virgin?” Oren, Fergus’ son, asked. 

“An unmarried woman,” Aedan answered, choosing the most diplomatic answer that Oren would still understand. 

“Are you going to be marrying a lot of women then, Uncle?” 

“If only,” Eleanor muttered. “I’d settle for him marrying just one.”

“Come now, mother,” Aedan said. “Eventually I’ll be married. What’s a little fun before that blessed day?”

“Aedan,” Eleanor sighed.

“Leave him be mother, he’ll find the right woman soon enough. He’s certainly spending enough of his time looking.” Fergus commented.

“And then some,” Aedan added. 

Twin admonishments of “Aedan!” and “Fergus!” came from both women at the table. Bryce just shook his head, but could not keep himself from laughing. 

“I still think you should meet with the Montilyet’s,” Oriana commented. “Their eldest daughter is almost of age. They have a strong trading business she will be inheriting. You could do a lot worse than that.”

“Well, yes,” Aedan muttered. “It’s the ‘almost of age’ part that bothers me.”

“Obviously you’d wait until she is old enough to be married,” Oriana said.

“I’m really not interested in someone younger than me,” Aedan said. 

“Don’t let Arl Eamon hear you say that,” Bryce said. The family chuckled, with the exception of Oren who maintained the slightly confused expression he had the entire conversation.

“Well that’s different,” Aedan said. “They didn’t meet until after Lady Isolde was an adult.”

“You could wait until after Josephine is of age if you would prefer,” Oriana said. Aedan sighed.

“I like Josephine,” Oren said. “She’s nice.”

Aedan placed his head on the table and groaned. Everyone else laughed, at his expense no less.

“Don’t worry, father,” Aedan said, raising his head from the table. “The castle will still be standing by the time you get back. Though I would much rather face the darkspawn. Wouldn’t it make more sense to have the actual heir stay behind and run the Teyrnir? I’m the one you spent all that effort teaching military tactics and combat to. Let me lead our armies in Fergus’ stead.”

At the other end of the table Fergus was chuckling, though Oriana was nodding her head fervently to what Aedan was saying. 

“You know Fergus needs to lead the men,” Bryce said. “A Teyrn needs to have the confidence of his men, the only way to do that is by actually leading them. By sharing in their danger.”

“But leading the armies is going to be my job,” Aedan said. 

“I can’t have you earning the entire army’s confidence,” Fergus said. “Otherwise you’ll steal my whole army out from under me.”

“But it’s a blight!” Aedan slammed his palm against the table. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Maker willing. I could either be ‘Aedan Cousland, who led the charge of the Highever forces against the darkspawn’, or I could be ‘Aedan Cousland, who remained behind minding his family’s castle while nothing interesting happened’.”

“Be that as it may,” Bryce said. “I can’t go risking both my heirs…”

“You do have three heirs, father,” Aedan pointed out. “I’m quite certain Oren is also higher in the line of succession than I am.”

“Again,” Bryce continued. “Be that as it may, you will remain in Highever and look after our people.”

“Of course,” Aedan sighed. “I will do this. I’m just not going to like it much.”

“I know,” Bryce smiled. “But you’re a Cousland. You know your duty like we all do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those unaware, a waster is a wooden training sword, that was used in place of real swords or metal training swords in medieval times as a less expensive alternative and to keep actual swords from being blunted.


	3. Magi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daylen Amel, anxious to be free of the tower. To do something with his magic. And Neria Surana, content to while away her time in the tower. These two will soon find themselves in the middle of the greatest opportunity of their lives.

The library, normally a quiet place for research and meditation, was abuzz with activity. Lessons were fully underway, young apprentices learning the basics of magic, while the older apprentices spent their time honing their craft on their own. 

Daylen Amel was sitting in one of the out of the way corners of the library, a heavy tome open in front of him.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jowan said. 

“Relax,” Daylen said, his hands held in front of him. “I have perfect control over this.”

“But that fireball spell is too advanced for apprentices. And we really shouldn’t be practicing it in the library,” Jowan said. 

“I’m not going to set anything on fire,” Daylen said. “I just want to get the form right.” He leaned down to read the next line of the spell description, adjusting his hands according to what he read. 

“Okay,” Daylen said. “Now next is…”

—-

Neria Surana was on duty in the hospital wing when Daylen and Jowan’s charred, unconscious bodies were brought in.

“Oh dear,” Wynne, the senior enchanter on duty, sighed. “What happened?”

“The idiots were practicing a fireball spell in the library,” the helmeted Templar carrying Daylen said.

Neria glanced over at the Templar carrying Jowan. Cullen was standing at attention, as much as he could while carrying an unconscious body. He avoided meeting Neria’s gaze, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. 

“Put him over here,” Neria said, gesturing to a bed. 

Cullen moved to deposit Jowan on the bed.

“Thank you,” Neria said, her hand brushing against Cullen’s gauntlet. He blushed as if they had made actual physical contact, muttered something unintelligible, turned and literally ran from the infirmary. 

The other Templar, who had already placed Daylen on the bed Wynne had directed him to, watched the fleeing Templar and sighed. He nodded to Wynne, then turned and followed Cullen.

“Practicing unauthorized spells,” Wynne sighed. “They’ll be made tranquil if they don’t stop this.”

“You don’t think they really will?” Neria turned to Wynne, her eyes wide. 

“Daylen means well,” Wynne said. “He’s just ambitious. Irving understands that. But if he keeps blowing up parts of the library they may make him tranquil just to spare the books from being demolished if nothing else.”

It was an odd thing to make light of, but Neria had long since learned that Wynne had an odd sense of humor. She busied herself ensuring that the two were not seriously injured. Besides minor burns and soot stains they seemed unharmed. She shook her head. Leave it to Daylen Amel to get such a serious spell so catastrophically wrong, and yet still emerge unharmed.

As Neria was soaking some cloths to wipe the soot off her wards she heard a groan. She turned around to see Daylen begin to wake up. 

“What happened?” He moaned, sitting up on the bed. His dazed eyes scanned the room before lighting upon Neria. They focused on her and he seemed to become more aware of his surroundings. “Neria?”

“You’re in the hospital wing,” Neria said. “Truly, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Daylen looked away from her, his gaze falling upon Jowan, who was lying in the bed next to his. 

“Jowan!” He tried to get out of bed, but ended up collapsed in a tangle of limbs, robes, and bedsheets. 

“He’s fine,” Neria said, as Daylen tried to straighten himself out. She was not going to bother trying to help him. Daylen Amel may have been as skinny as a twig, but he was almost twice as tall as her, that kind of height added weight, and she was not about to try and lift him back into bed.

Out of all the apprentices in the tower, Neria disliked spending time around Daylen. He was nice enough, a bit loud, far too eager to learn powerful magic. He made the templars nervous. In their minds the only mage that wanted power was the kind of mage that wanted to use it. Neria did not believe Daylen was like that, he was just fascinated by magic and wanted to know everything there was to know. She could sympathize with that, though her own fascination lay with spells that involved less exploding.

No, the real reason Neria Surana did not like spending time around Daylen was because where he was tall for a human, if skinny, she was short for an elf and skinny. It made her think unkind things about him for being so lucky as to not have to ask for help reaching books in the library, or to need to use the ladder for books on the fifth shelf. And she could not stand thinking unkind thoughts. They agitated her in a way she did not care for. Serenity was the key, and the only way to maintain that serenity was to not have Daylen Amel use her head as an armrest and think it was hilarious for the hundredth time.

“You know you have no one to blame but yourself,” Neria said, once Daylen had assured himself that his friend was singed but unharmed. 

“Well obviously,” Daylen said. “I got the force alignment out of order, I should have read the whole spell before attempting it partially.”

“You really shouldn’t be so reckless,” Neria said. “That kind of magic is far too advanced for you, you’re going to get yourself killed one of these days!”

“Magic,” Daylen turned to look Neria dead in the eye. She tried to ignore the fact that she had drawn herself to her full height, and he was sitting slouched on a hospital bed. “Exists to be used. It is our maker given gift, and what is the point of having it if we can’t use it and improve on it? What even is the point of it all if I’m locked away where it can’t do any good!”

Neria shushed him, glancing around nervously for any templar. “You know very well that magic is dangerous,” she whispered. “We’re kept here where we’re not a danger to anyone.”

“Don’t give me that,” Daylen said, not bothering to lower his voice. “You know full well that there aren’t nearly as many cases of abominations and blood mages as the templars believe. Mages that have proven they are no threat should be allowed out into the world, where their magic can do good!”

"Will you stop that!” Neria hissed. “You know full well that is never going to happen, and talking like that is only going to get you in trouble!”

“Right,” Daylen said. “What are they going to do to me? Send me to the grand enchanter’s office?”

—-

“You do realize what you did was absolutely reckless,” Grand Enchanter Irving said. 

“Yes, sir,” Daylen muttered. Next to him Jowan was staring at the floor, horror on his face, avoiding the gaze of Knight Commander Greagoir.

“Thirst for knowledge is a healthy trait,” Irving said. “But not where it pertains to the learning of how to throw fireballs around, especially not in the middle of my library!” 

Irving paced in front of his desk, agitated. 

“Do you think, Mr Amel,” he said. “That our curriculum is moving too slow? Are you feeling bored with your lessons?”

“Well,” Daylen’s honest streak reared its ugly head. “Just a little, sir. All the spells we’re learning come easy to me. What’s the harm in learning something more challenging?” 

“I think,” Irving said. “Yours and Mr Jowan’s eyebrows are the answer to that question!”

Daylen again reached up to feel his eyebrows, or rather the ridge of blistered smooth skin where they used to be. At least this time his hair was untouched. He had just gotten it to the length he liked after the last time a fire spell blew up in his face. He didn’t want to remind anyone of the nickname they had given him, for his hair and his penchant for setting said hair on fire, ‘flamehead’. 

“Just,” Irving sighed. “Just follow your lessons, and try not to explode anything else. If you find yourself bored read a book on herbalism or something.” He walked back over to his desk, waving the two apprentices off.

“Well,” Daylen said, as the door to Irving’s study closed behind them. “That went well.”

“Are you mad?” Jowan said. “I thought Greagoir was going to chew my ears off in there!”

“He’s just trying to intimidate you,” Daylen said. “Come on, I have another spell I want to try out.”

“Daylen,” Jowan groaned, but followed after his friend nonetheless. 

—-

Neria was holed away in a secluded corner of the library, a book on healing spells open before her. Occasionally she would glance up to ensure she was still alone. Then her eyes would fall back to the smaller book she had hidden among the pages of the larger tome. Periodically she would slip the small book into her lap and turn the pages of the tome, just in case anyone was watching that she could not see.

Outside reading was not strictly forbidden, but neither was it encouraged, and never for apprentices. But mages were experts at evading the watchful eye of the templars, and even the most upstanding mage had their secret stash of contraband. In this case it was a romance novel, borrowed from Wynne’s private collection.

Neria sighed as she read. Trysts were among the most forbidden vices mages had to hide from the templars. Neria herself had never been involved with anyone. Most mages were interested in a quick rough and tumble, growing attached was not recommended as the templars would inevitably find out and separate the lovers. Neria did not have the nerve to go through with any kind of illicit affair, and certainly not the kind of romance she dreamed of. At best she teased poor Cullen, who she suspected was sweet on her, though she could never be certain.

So she read, about romances real and fake that inflamed her imagination. So often she would put herself in the shoes of her heroines, though they were all far bolder and daring than she. At most she could manage a flirty look, and maybe a hand lingering on armored hand. Some of these books were downright scandalous. Though Wynne would tease the more lascivious books while never allowing her to borrow them. 

She heard voices. Neria slammed her book shut, and slid it into her robes. The footsteps grew as the voices, urgently whispering, grew in intensity. 

“This really, really, really isn’t a good idea, Daylen.” 

Neria groaned. Jowan and Daylen. 

“It’s fine,” Daylen whispered. “The problem last time was that fire damages books. That’s why everyone was getting so upset. So if we practice advanced ice spells there won’t be a problem.”

Neria smacked her face. She was able to summon her barrier just before the blizzard tore through the shelves, sending frozen books flying every which way. 

—-

After a second trip to Irving’s office, which Daylen was unsure of how he escaped from punishment this time, Daylen found himself confined to the apprentice quarters. With little else to do he sat on his bed and read, ignoring the snickers and surreptitious glances from the other apprentices. Apparently he had become quite infamous with his failed attempts at mastering higher level spells. Two in one day made for a particularly eventful day in a place as dull as the Circle of Magi.

As he had many times before, Daylen found himself ignoring the contents of the pages before him, daydreaming about something, anything happening to alleviate the boredom. He imagined going out into the world, seeing new lands, or at least the lands beyond sight of the tower windows. Even being transferred to another circle would be acceptable, at least it would be a change of scenery, if not the freedom he was actually hoping for. 

He saw himself, by some twist of fate, in the same tower as one of his siblings. Though how he would recognize them he was unsure of. All he had ever been told was that they existed, and he figured he never would have learned that were it not for the fact that apparently his family was nobility in the Free Marches. It hardly afforded him any privileges, not that he would have cared much for privileges afforded mages since none of them truly involved being allowed outside the tower, but it did allow him to at least be told where he was from and who his family was. 

As if that information had ever done him any good, at best it gave him a longing for a family he did not know, and would most likely never meet. At least not so long as he was trapped in this bloody tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve got three down, one more to go. I really hope you’re enjoying the story so far, I know the introductory chapters can be a bit rough, but by next Wednesday we’ll get into the body of the story and substantially longer chapters. I know with these kind of stories the introductory chapters are always the least popular chapters. I know what you’re here for, it’s what I read fanfics for, it’s all about the pairings and relationships. And don’t worry, those will come.


	4. Dwarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natia Brosca is a common thug, Duran Aeducan is a spoiled prince. Their destinies are about to intertwine.

Chapter 4  
Natia Brosca was in a pensive mood as she escorted her sister to the Diamond District. She ignored the suspicious looks dwarves in all manner of fine clothing were giving her. Unlike her sister, Natia was still wearing her dirty leathers—strapped together from whatever bits of old armor she could find. Rica on the other hand was clean, well dressed, and even wearing makeup—all crucial for attracting the attention of a noble. They tended not to go for a duster who had not had a bath in months, and who was missing one of her teeth from a blow to the face by a splintered club. Rica had very nice teeth.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay,” Natia asked Rica. 

“Relax,” Rica said. “I’m perfectly safe. At worst maybe I’ll find some Deshyr that likes to get a little rough. Your big sister is tough, I can handle myself.”

“Still don’t like it,” Natia muttered. 

They arrived at the edge of the Diamond Quarter, Natia knew she couldn’t stick around, now that she had seen her sister safely to her destination. Still she lingered a bit, to watch as Rica was approached by a man wearing noble armor. The way Rica smiled at him, that wasn’t her fake smile. Natia had seen her fake smile many times when Beraht would come to their home, or when mother was having one of her tirades. 

This was the smile that Rica reserved for Natia. She felt a bit saddened by seeing this. Rica’s true smile was something that Natia had always thought was just for herself. And here her sister was, smiling at some noble to convince him to lay his seed in her and hope that it was a boy. 

Natia had to admit, living in the Diamond Quarter was something she sometimes dreamed of. But she had long ago decided that she would make her way on her own terms, not wait for some noble to take his pleasure on her and then hope for the right outcome. Her only skills were thieving and hitting people hard enough so that they stayed down. Hardly the skills that would let her into the noble class. But even warrior class would be a significant improvement over her lot. And why shouldn’t she be? She was tougher than any of the pampered and armored warriors. She bet none of them would stand a chance against fifteen dusters armed with nothing but a shattered ale bottle and a broken chair leg. Even if it did cost her a tooth.

It wasn’t right, she had so much to prove. If only there was a way she could show she was better than any of the warriors. 

The guards were starting to get antsy, she could tell by the way they kept glancing at her. Natia decided it was time to make her exit. She would wait for Rica to get home, hopefully it would not take too long this time.

—-

Duran could tell it was going to be a good day. As he woke on the day he would be getting his commission as an officer in the army from his father. Nothing could possibly ruin this day. 

Or so he thought.

“Gorim,” he said to his aide, as Duran sat at his breakfast table. “I believe I specifically requested actual bacon. Made from pigs. Not…nug bacon.”

“I apologize my prince,” Gorim said. “The kitchen said they were out of bacon.”

“And what,” Duran said. “Did they use it for if not for my breakfast?”

“I believe,” Gorim said, standing at attention, keeping a straight face aimed slightly above Duran’s head. “They sent the last of it to Prince Trian’s room.”

“That bastard!” Duran yelled, smashing his goblet of wine on the table. The rich red liquid splashed on his hand. He frowned as it began to stain his skin, only long enough for Gorim to step forward and wipe it clean with a towel. “He doesn’t even like pig bacon! What is he doing having it sent to his room!”

“I couldn’t say, my prince,” Gorim said. 

“And I suppose I am meant to begin my day with an unacceptable breakfast?” Duran said. He rubbed his forehead. “Well, I won’t give Trian the satisfaction. Today is my day. And I do not intend to let that bastard ruin it for me.”

“Now,” he said, standing up, leaving the nug bacon untouched. “What is on the schedule for today?”

“Your father has arranged a proving in your honor, my prince,” Gorim said. “And afterwards he has asked that you attend the throne room, that you may receive your commission.”

“Excellent,” Duran said. “Let us see to it then.”

Duran left his quarters. He passed by his brother Bhelen’s room. A redheaded woman poked her head out as he passed. She startled when she saw him, and tried to close the door to Bhelen’s room behind her. Duran grabbed the door and forced it open. The startled woman stumbled backwards. She had a brand tattoo on her face. 

“Whats all this then?” Duran said. The woman stammered. 

“Excuse me my lord,” she said. “I thought you were someone else…”

Duran laughed. “Gorim,” he said. “Inform my little brother’s harlot of whom she is speaking to.”

Gorim stepped forward. “You are speaking to Prince Duran Aeducan, second son of King Endrin.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, my prince,” the duster woman whimpered. 

“Bah,” Duran turned and left Bhelen’s room. He liked Bhelen well enough, certainly better than Trian. There was no point harassing his little brother’s “noble hunter”. Though the day was off to an imperfect start, it was time to find himself some entertainment before he was to be honored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short, mostly I wanted to get these two into the story, they'll get their limelight in the story proper.


	5. Theron Mahariel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron Mahariel, Dalish hunter, comes across a mysterious mirror in ancient ruins. Little does he realize how his life is about to change forever.

Fog covered the Brecilian Forest, wet, sticky fog that hung over head just enough to plaster the dust on the ground to your skin. Theron watched from the bushes as three Shem ran as if for their lives. They had been tracking them for the past several minutes. Theron had been content to leave them be, provided they left the forest. But they were straying too close to the camp. He gave the signal to Tamlen, who stepped out from his hiding place, appearing before the panicked humans like a Wraith.

“It’s a Dalish!” One of the humans gasped.

“And you three are trespassing someplace you shouldn’t be,” Tamlen said, leveling an arrow at the three humans.

“You have no right to hold us!” The human said.

Theron stepped out from his hiding place, arrow leveled at the humans, who flinched once he came into their view. 

“What do you say, Lethallan?” Tamlen said. “What should we do with them?”

“Let’s find out what they were doing here,” Theron said.

“Does it matter?” Tamlen said. “Hunting or banditry we’ll have to move camp.”

Shem did not often have reason to be in the forest, unless they were hunters, which these three obviously were not given their lack of weapons. And Shem lords were significantly stricter in regards to their subjects hunting on their lands. Their clothes labeled them peasants, as far as Theron could be certain with human fashions. Theron was about to say so, when another of the humans spoke.

“We found a cave! Ruins, old ruins! We were just exploring.”

“We know this Forest,” Theron said. “There are caves, but no ruins. You lie.”

“I have proof!” The human said, reaching for his pouch. He stopped when Theron turned his bow on him.

After a second Theron nodded, the human pulled a stone out of his pouch and passed it to Tamlen, who lowered his bow to examine the stone.

“This stone has carvings. Is this elvish? Written elvish?”

“There’s more in the ruins,” the human said. “We didn’t get very far in though.”

Theron examined the stone after Tamlen passed it to him, who raised his bow again once Theron had taken the stone. He wasn’t entirely sure, he could not read the markings, but there was a sense of familiarity to them. He had seen the like on the scrolls Merrill studied, scrolls the Keeper had lent her for her studies.

“I think you’re right, Tamlen,” Theron said. “These markings look very familiar.”

“Like the ones on the Keeper’s scrolls, right?” Tamlen said. He turned to face the humans again. “And this is all you found?”

“There was a demon,” the third human said. “Huge. Black eyes. We didn’t stick around. Thank the maker we were able to run.”

Theron scoffed, it stung to know so little about their own heritage, for the shems to so casually throw their god around. Especially when it was in the name of that God that the Dales were destroyed. After the fall of Arlathan, their first ancestral home, the Dales were meant to be the place where they could rebuild their society. Until the Chantry led Exalted March brought an end to that dream. 

“Where is this cave?” He asked.

“Off to the west,” the human said. “There’s a hole, and through it there are the ruins.”

“Do we trust them?” Tamlen said. “More importantly, do we let them go? They could send the other shem after us.”

Theron shook his head. He may hate Shem, but he did not have the stomach for murder. If they let the men live they would possibly rouse the other shem against them, and the clan would be forced to leave. Or if they killed them now the Shem would wonder what happened to these three. Either way they would have to leave, and either way the Shem would be up in arms against them. Better the Shem have baseless suspicion rather than fact to rouse their anger.

“You’ve frightened them enough,” Theron said. “They won’t bother us. Besides, I have no desire to kill.”

“You're getting soft, Lethallan,” Tamlen chuckled. He did not share his opinion on why he thought Theron was growing softer. “Run along then Shems,” he told the humans. “And don’t come back until we Dalish have moved on.”

“Of course! Thank you!” The humans ran.

“So,” Tamlen turned to Theron. “Do you want to see the truth of their story? Seeing these carvings has made me curious.”

“Perhaps we should inform the Keeper first,” Theron said. They wouldn’t have much time before the Shems got back to their village.

“She might be interested if we first see if there is anything more to this, before we come back all excited,” Tamlen said. “Besides, we’re already here, they said it was just to the west, we’ll be back in no time.”

“I suppose so,” Theron said, still uncertain. 

They followed the path westward, down into the canyon. Theron kept looking around the forest, eyes peeled for any other Shem that may be lurking around. If there was one thing Theron knew, was that there were always more Shem in the world. Where three were there could easily be more.

A rotten smell on the wind caught his nose. He paused. It was the scent of a fresh kill, but this one in particular Theron had come to recognize and dread. 

“Wolves,” Tamlen said, drawing an arrow and placing it to his bow. 

Wolves normally avoided the Dalish, as well as humans, but prey had been scarce all around. Theron considered that it was a shame to have to kill these wolves, as his first arrow struck home, the second following it within moments and striking down a second wolf. The remaining pack fled.

Tamlen sighed as he lowered his bow. “First Shem invading our forest,” he said. “And now the wolves are acting strange. This has been an odd season.”

Theron nodded, passing by Tamlen as he moved down the path, towards the source of the smell. He knelt by the dead Halla, its belly had been torn open and mostly consumed. Tamlen swore when he saw the corpse. 

“It must have wandered off,” Tamlen said. It happened sometimes, though not often, Halla were usually well protected, but they were not kept like humans kept their druffalo or horses, restrained to pastures and constantly watched. 

“We’ll have someone come gather it,” Theron said, marking the spot in his mind.

They continued on past the cliffs down into a canyon, it was not long before they found the cave. It was hard to miss, with the massive pillars forming an open tunnel leading to the cave opening. It was an almost ludicrous juxtaposition to have such ancient architecture leading to what amounted to a hole in the wall of the canyon.

“This must be the cave,” Tamlen said.

“You think?” Theron asked.

“I don’t recall seeing this before, do you?”

“No,” Theron said. “And that’s what worries me. We should be wary.”

"Always the careful one,” Tamlen said. “Fine, but no running back until we’re sure there’s something worth making a fuss over. Let’s see if there’s something here, how dangerous could it be?”

Theron groaned. “Why did you have to say that?”

“Come on,” Tamlen said, pushing past the thorns and brambles to get into the cave. The shems had made a fairly sizable hole in the undergrowth, allowing them to enter. 

“It looks like the shem were telling the truth,” Tamlen said once they had made it through the opening. “But these ruins look more human than elven. Come on, let’s go in further.”

Tamlen dashed off ahead of Theron. A large shape dropped on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Tamlen screamed in shock, his sword leaving its sheath and trying to hack at what Theron realized was a spider. He fired an arrow into the creature’s body, but it didn’t seem to react. Theron pulled his Dar’Misaan sword from his hip and the Dar’Misu knife from his back. 

More spiders were coming towards them. Theron counted two more. He rushed at them, Tamlen had already thrown the one on him off, a second was about to pounce upon him. Theron leapt, his Dar’Misaan impaling the spider, while his Dar’Misu split the head of Tamlen’s Spider. The third spider leapt, Tamlen held up his shield to catch the impact. Theron twisted, his blade leaving the first spider and catching the last one, splitting it in two as the momentum of its charge carried it forward. 

Theron stood, wiping the spider gore from his blades. 

"I had that you know,” Tamlen said. 

“Of course,” Theron said, smirking as he sheathed his weapons. 

“Show off,” Tamlen muttered, he kicked at the last spider. Something clinked as it fell out of the spider and onto the stone floor. 

Theron picked up the slimy little disks. He rubbed them free of gore and showed them to Tamlen.

“Why does a spider have copper coins in it?” Tamlen asked.

“How would I know,” Theron shrugged. “Perhaps one of its victims had a purse that the spider accidentally swallowed.” He pocketed the coins.

“Really?” Tamlen asked. “You’re taking the spider coins? Those things are foul.”

“They are also money. Maybe if we find some Shems that don’t want to kill us we could buy something with them.”

“And the odds of that are?”

“Good enough that I’m keeping the coins,” Theron said.

Tamlen took the lead through the rest of the ruins, but more cautiously now. They saw little else but spiders, and their victims, thickly wrapped in spider silk. Theron briefly considered cutting them open for any useful loot. Tamlen immediately shot that idea down.

The architecture was certainly human. Or at least there was nothing to indicate to Theron that it had at any point been elven. There were strange carvings and symbols on the walls that he could not read, but knew enough to recognize that they were not any form of elvish. The only light was provided by strange statues, holding bowls of fire that somehow still burned. There was something familiar about them almost, but the lit fire made Theron nervous. Either something supernatural was afoot, for the flames to be burning, or something had recently lit them.

Piles of bones littered the floor. Theron poked through them, to see if anything useful could be found. He hissed when his foot touched a cruel looking weapon, hidden under the bones. It was pitch black and looked like it had been crafted by an unskilled craftsman whose only interest was creating something that could inflict as much pain as possible. A sickly black ooze covered it, as if fresh blood still stained the weapon.

“What is that thing?” Tamlen asked. 

“I don’t know,” Theron said. He did not pick it up.

“Come on,” Tamlen said. “There must be more deeper in.” He headed towards the door. 

“Wait!” Theron called. 

Tamlen stopped mid-step. Theron rushed over and kicked aside some rubble. 

“Look there, a cunning trap, some kind of pressure plate,” he said. “Give me a second.” Within moments the trap, old and rusty, had been disarmed. They proceeded more cautiously after that. Which served them well as more spiders kept crawling out of holes in the walls. Without the element of surprise the spiders were no match for Theron or Tamlen.

Finally they came upon a statue, one that seemed familiar to Theron, though he could not place why he felt that it was.

“I can’t believe this,” Tamlen said. “You recognize this statue, don’t you?”

“It’s worn,” Theron said. "But it looks vaguely familiar.”

“Statues like these honored our creators,” Tamlen said. “This ruin looks like human architecture, but with statues of our people. Do you suppose these ruins could date back to the time of Arlathan?”

“We’re nowhere near Arlathan,” Theron said. “And this proves nothing. It could just as well mean that some Shem stole a statue from somewhere and brought it here.”

“But why?” Tamlen asked. “Shem were more likely to destroy artifacts dedicated to our gods. And we must have lived in other places too, besides Arlathan. Perhaps this was one of those places? And even if Elves did not live here, it’s architects must have known of our gods.”

Theron turned away from the statue. There was a door, directly across the hall from the statue. Theron stepped towards it, missing the pressure plate, hidden more cleverly than the previous traps. A cloud of noxious gas burst from the floor. Theron and Tamlen choked. Disoriented, they watched in horror as the corpses around them stood, lumbering towards them with raised weapons. 

“Walking corpses!” Tamlen cried. “This place is haunted!”

Theron placed an arrow between the eyes of the closest skeleton. Or at least that was his intention, he found himself stumbling, throwing off his aim. He dropped his bow, drawing his sword instead, clumsily swinging while the gas left him lightheaded. 

Somehow they survived. Once the gas wore off, Theron was able to survey the battlefield. What he had initially thought was a horde of skeletons turned out to be just two. He was uncertain who had made the final blow on either of them, nor was Tamlen, who found himself collapsed and breathing heavily.

“Are you okay, Lethallan?” Theron asked. 

“Look there," Tamlen coughed. “A cunning trap.”

"Shut up," Theron laughed, pulling Tamlen to his feet.

“I just want to state, so that neither of us forget it,” Tamlen said. “That it was you who actually triggered a trap. Not me. I have not triggered any traps today.”

“You would have, if not for me,” Theron said. “And one of the easily spotted ones too.”

The door opened easily to their touch. After seeing what lay beyond, Theron tried to slam the door shut. But it was forced out of his hands, as a burly shape tore through. Theron was thrown across the hall, landing at the foot of the statue. Tamlen was caught behind the door, the creature turned on him. It rammed against Tamlen, smashing the other elf against the wall. 

Theron fired an arrow into the creature’s exposed flank. It did little other than draw its attention away from Tamlen. Which was what Theron had been hoping for. His second arrow found itself lodged into the monster’s eye, all the way to the fletching. The creature roared in pain. Then was silenced when a second arrow found its remaining eye. Tamlen plunged his sword driven into its neck, severing the spine.

“By the creators!” Tamlen cried, pulling his sword free and stepping away from the creature. “What was that thing?”

Theron examined the monster, it was some kind of bear with exposed ribs and bones, and spines sticking out where Theron was certain there were no spines. He briefly considered retrieving his arrows, but the stench of the thing, and the puss oozing from its open wounds, sticking along the spines, made him reconsider. 

“Reminds me of that mace,” Theron said. “There’s something wrong with it.”

“I’d say!”

With the creature gone, they stepped through the door. Before them was a giant mirror, flanked by statues that Theron could not determine if they represented humans or elves. Their features and ears had long since been worn down to the point that he could not identify what they were. The swords they carried seemed human in design, but given the mixture of elven and human architecture and decoration, Theron was not to certain that the weapons could properly identify the race of the statues. Or of their builders.

Tamlen stepped towards the mirror. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I wonder what the writing says?”

“The Keeper might be able to translate it,” Theron said, starting to feel uneasy. As he looked at the mirror he began to feel nauseated. 

“Maybe,” Tamlen said. “But she’s not here to help us. Odd that it’s not broken like everything else, especially with that bear. I wonder what the writing is for.” He leaned closer to the mirror. Whispers, on the edge of their hearing. Tamlen pulled back. “Hey, did you see that? I think something moved inside the mirror.”

“Get away from it Tamlen,” Theron said, backing away. 

“Hold on,” Tamlen said. “I just want to know what it is.”

Shapes rippled just below the mirror’s surface. Theron glanced at Tamlen, he was not backing away. Theron swore, and rushed over to grab Tamlen and pull him away.

“There it is again," Tamlen said. “I think it knows we are here. I need to take a closer look.” He shrugged off Theron’s attempts to grab him, dancing closer to the mirror. “It’s showing me things. Some kind of city. Underground. There’s a great blackness.” Tamlen stepped back. “I think it saw me! I…” He struggled to move. "Help! I can't look away!”

Theron grabbed Tamlen, pulling at his arm. The explosion threw him away from the mirror. Words filled his mind. There was a scream. Was it his own? Voices. In a language he could not understand.

“Can you hear me? I am very sorry.”

—-

Theron woke with a hammering headache. He was laying on something soft. Not the ground. A bed? He tried opening his eyes. He was somewhere dim. There was light outside the windows. But inside it was comfortable and dark. This…this was his own aravel!

He sat up, too fast, his vision swam. Someone was at his side. A beautiful face.

“You’re awake!” Merrill cried. “I was worried sick about you! How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” Theron muttered. "Where is Tamlen?”

Merrill’s relieved expression fell. “We don’t know,” she said. "The shem who brought you here saw no sign of him.”

“We drove off some Shems in the forest,” Theron muttered. His throat was so dry. He cast his eyes about for something to drink. Merrill reached over and handed him a cup of water. It was cold, despite the heat of day. Theron felt the lingering bite of frost on Merrill’s hands as she passed the cup to him.

“I don’t think you could have drive this one off,” Merrill said. “He was a Grey Warden. He carried you in slung over one shoulder. I thought…”

“Merrill?”

“I thought you were dead!” She cried. “You weren’t moving, and when the Keeper looked at you, you were so sick! The Grey Warden said he found you outside a cave in the forest. Unconscious and alone. He left you with us and ran off into the forest. Keeper Marethari healed you, but you wouldn’t wake up. I thought I had lost you…”

“It’s okay,” Theron said, pulling her into his arms. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Merrill muttered into his chest. “Not now that…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Theron said. “I promise you.”

They stayed like that for several minutes. Despite his words, Theron feared what would have happened had he not been rescued from the cave. He did not want to think of Merrill, what it would have done to her, had he been lost. No one in the clan could have found the cave, they never would have known where he was. He would be lost like Tamlen.

Tamlen.

Theron pulled away from Merrill. “I need to talk to Keeper Marethari,” he said. 

Merrill blinked tears from her eyes, then nodded. “She wants to talk to you too.” Merrill stood, helping Theron, who was still unstable on his feet, stand. Fenarel was standing outside the door to Theron’s aravel. 

“You’re awake!” Fenarel cried. “We’d thought you were…”

“I’m fine,” Theron said. “Is there any news of Tamlen?”

Fenarel shook his head. 

“We need to speak to the Keeper,” Merrill said. Fenarel nodded and ran off to fetch her.

It took Marethari only a moment to arrive. "I see you are awake da’len,” she said. “It is fortunate Duncan found you when he did. You were under some dark power, your life was bleeding away. It was difficult for my magic to keep you alive.”

“What happened to us?”

Marethari shook her head. "I know only that the Grey Warden found you in front of a strange cave. Alone. He said there were darkspawn creatures inside the cave.”

“Darkspawn?” Theron asked. “There were walking corpses and other strange monsters.”

“Walking corpses?” Marethari sounded incredulous. “Dark magic, but not darkspawn. I know not what other creatures you might have seen. What else did you find? What is the last thing you remember?”

“A mirror,” Theron said. “Tamlen touched it.”

“A mirror?” Marethari asked. “And it caused all this? I have never heard of such a thing in any of our lore. This only raises more questions. And Tamlen is missing. That is more important than any lore. If he is as sick as you were, then his condition is grave. Duncan went searching for Darkspawn, but we cannot rely on him to find Tamlen. Are you well enough to show us the way?”

“I am up to it, Keeper. I feel fine,” Theron said. 

“You were unconscious just minutes ago!” Merrill said. She turned to the Keeper. “He’s in no condition to be doing anything other than resting.”

“That is why I want you to join him,” Marethari said. “You helped me treat him, and know what to do in case the disease returns. And you can help Tamlen when you find him. See what you can learn from the mirror, it may shed light on this illness.”

Merrill looked uncertain, Theron took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I really am fine,” he said. “It’s Tamlen we need to worry about.”

“Indeed,” Marethari said. “I am ordering the clan to pack, so that we might leave for the North. The two of you find Tamlen and return swiftly.”

“The clan is leaving?” Theron was surprised. They had not been in Ferelden for very long, and rarely traveled in the North during the summer if it could be avoided.

“If there is any truth to what Duncan said,” Marethari said. “Then the darkspawn may show up soon. I will not risk our clan against the darkspawn horde. Did you encounter any more humans?”

“We met three in the forest,” Theron said. “But we drove them off.”

“Although you hurt none of them,” Marethari said. “The humans have roused the nearby villages. In either case, we have stayed too long. We must move on quickly.”

Theron nodded. “I was afraid that would happen. But are you not interested in the ruins or the mirror?”

“I would be lying if I said I was not, but knowledge is not worth our children. I am only sending you in hopes of finding Tamlen, and that is all.”

“What about Merrill?” Theron asked. “She could get sick like I did. I will not risk that.”

“You’re in no state to go off into the forest on your own,” Merrill said. “And you got better, so will I.”

“Just be careful and do not touch the mirror,” Marethari said. “Go quickly. Tamlen’s life hangs in the balance.”

—-

It too the better part of a half hour to arrive back where Theron and Tamlen had first encountered the humans. From there Theron led Merrill down the path they had followed to reach the cave. He kept a wary eye open for more wolves as they approached where they had found the dead Halla. It was thanks to this that he was able to spot the archer that was aiming at Merrill. 

“Look out!” He cried. 

Merrill erected a shield to protect herself and him against the following arrows. Theron fired across the canyon, the wind shifted, blowing his arrow off course. He ducked back behind the shield as the darkspawn fired back at him. 

“I can’t get a clear shot,” he said.

“Let me try,” Merrill lowered the shield and fired twin bolts of energy across the canyon. Unhindered by the wind they felled two of the archers attacking them. Theron dashed around the bend, his sword ready to take the remaining third archer.

He got his first good look of what was attacking them. It was a squat, ugly creature, about the size of a dwarf, but hideous and deformed. He recoiled from the stench, his head swimming as he felt himself drawn towards the creature. Something in his blood…recognized it. It felt the same as the mace, only with a horrid edge of recognition. The monster swung a curved and jagged blade at his legs. Theron jumped over the blade, planting his lead foot against the creature’s chest, knocking it off into the canyon. 

“What were those things?” Merrill asked, coming up behind him. “Were those darkspawn?”

“That would make sense,” Theron said. He did not share with her the flash of familiarity he had felt as he approached the monster.

“I’ve never seen anything like them,” Merrill said. “You can smell the evil on them. Where did they come from? Were they here before?”

Theron shook his head. “Maybe the mirror has something to do with it.”

“What would the darkspawn have to do with our people?” Merrill asked. “Arlathan fell long before the darkspawn appeared. We should move on. But before we go, are you all right? Were you hurt during the fight?”

“I’m fine,” Theron said. “Stop fussing over me.”

“It’s just that you’re quite pale,” Merrill placed the back of her hand against his forehead. Theron felt his heartbeat accelerate, as it always did when she was close. “And your temperature is high. You look a bit feverish in fact.”

“I’m fine,” Theron said, wrapping his hand around her wrist, and removing her hand from his forehead. 

“Well,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye on you. You’ve only just recovered from your illness.”

“You mean you don’t normally keep an eye on me?”

Merrill giggled. “Stay focused,” she said. “There’s no time for that now. We should move on.”

Further down the canyon they came across the remains of a camp. Hastily buried ashes, surrounded by a ring of stones. Charred wood stuck up from the ground.    
“I wonder whose camp this is?” Merrill asked. “Do you remember it being here?”

Theron shook his head. “Maybe it belongs to the Shemlen who found me.”

“You’re probably right,” Merrill said. “Didn't he say he went back to the cave?” She paused, her ears perking up. “Wait. Do you hear that?”

“Nothing,” Theron said. “No forest creatures. It’s too quiet.”

“Exactly,” Merrill said. “The forest is too still. There’s something in the air. Something unnatural.”

“We should be careful,” Theron said. “I don’t like this.”

“It seems that whatever you woke inside that cave has spread outside. The sooner we find that cave the sooner we can find Tamlen and leave.”

They approached the arches once again. A trio of darkspawn were waiting for them. Theron took two of them out easily, while Merrill engulfed the last one in fire. Not caught off guard, they had a surprisingly easy time fighting these monsters.

Once they were inside the ruins Merrill looked around. “So these are the ruins. Interesting. They are definitely of human origin, yet there are elven artifacts scattered around. And nothing explains those monsters. We should find Tamlen. I can’t imagine he’d still be alive with those creatures about.”

“Don’t talk like that!” Theron yelled, rounding on Merrill. “You don’t know that!”

“You’re right,” Merrill said, taking Theron’s outburst in stride. “We should explore farther before going on about our fears. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Theron rubbed at his forehead. His head was throbbing. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know what came over me. I should not have yelled.”

“It’s okay,” Merrill said. “You’re worried about Tamlen, I understand.”

“Come,” Theron said. “Let’s find the mirror at least, maybe we can find where Tamlen went. No way I can’t find at least part of his trail.”

The ruins were surprisingly empty. Up until they reached the hall that led to the mirror, where Theron found himself ducking under a blast of magic. The two darkspawn that tried to charge him while he was down found themselves on the business end of Merrill’s magic, while Theron used the chance to charge the magic wielding darkspawn. He dodged the blasts of magic, unsure what they would do if they hit him, and unwilling to find out.

“These things always seem to come in threes,” Merrill commented, gingerly stepping around the corpses. “Is that the place?” She asked, pointing to the door.

“Yeah,” Theron said. 

The door was open, the room much as he remembered it. A man, dark skinned and tall, was standing before the mirror. Darkspawn corpses littered the room, some of them were taller than the ones they had fought.

“I thought I heard combat,” he said, turning away from the mirror. “You’re the elf I found wandering the forest. I am surprised you recovered.”

“If you heard fighting,” Theron said. “Why didn’t you help?”

“I would have,” the human said. “Had I not been battling them myself.” He gestured at the corpses littering the floor. “My name is Duncan. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Andaran atish’an, Duncan of the Wardens,” Merrill said. “I am Merrill, the Keeper’s apprentice.”

“We are looking for our brother, Tamlen,” Theron said.

“So you and your friend Tamlen both entered the cave and saw this mirror?” Duncan asked.

“Yes,” Theron said. “Tamlen touched the mirror and I blacked out.”

“I see,” Duncan said, with a morose expression. “That is unfortunate. The Grey Wardens have seen artifacts like this before. They are Tevinter in origin, used for communication. But this one broke and was tainted by the darkspawn taint. Tamlen’s touch must have activated it. That is what made you sick, and Tamlen too.”

“We need to take it to the Keeper,” Theron said. “She can use it to find a cure.”

“The darkspawn are drawn to the mirror,” Duncan said. “It will draw them to your clan if you take it from this place.”

“I do not fear the sickness,” Theron said. “Keeper Marethari cured it.”

“She weakened it,” Duncan said. “But she did not cure it. Even now I can sense the sickness inside you, spreading. Look inside yourself and you will see it.”

Theron did not need to do this. Even now he could feel his blood throbbing in the presence of the darkspawn. This close to the mirror there was no ignoring it. Whatever it was, it was still inside him.

“Then what do I do?” Theron asked, his heart sinking. Was there no cure? He glanced over at Merrill, who was looking at him with a heartbroken expression.

“First I must deal with the mirror,” Duncan said. “It is a pestilence and a threat as long as it continues to exist.”

He drew his sword, bringing it down on the mirror. There was a bright flash of light, Theron collapsed as the shards of glass fell. The throbbing in his blood crested and then silenced. He stood up, Merrill kneeling down to help him stand.

“It is done,” Duncan said. “Now let us leave this cursed place. I will speak to your Keeper regarding your cure.”

“What about Tamlen?” Theron asked. 

"There is nothing we can do,” Duncan said, shaking his head.

“I'm still alive,” Theron said. “Tamlen could be too.”

"Let me be very clear," Duncan said. “There is nothing you can do for him. He has been tainted for three days, unaided. You survived because of your Keeper’s healing arts and because of your own willpower. Tamlen has no chance. Trust me when I say he is gone. Now we should return.”

“Won’t there at least be a body,” Theron asked. 

“The darkspawn would have taken it,” Duncan said. 

“Taken it where? What would they have done with it.”

“Darkspawn are evil creatures,” Duncan said. “Best leave it at that and not wonder about what may be. I am sorry, but I cannot say more.”

Theron wanted to argue with Duncan, but he could tell what he said was the truth. He himself had only just survived. The odds of Tamlen making it…

“Very well,” Theron said. “Let’s go back to camp.”

“I sense no other darkspawn nearby,” Duncan said. “It should be safe. Lead on.”

—-

As they returned to camp it was clear that the rest of the clan knew what it meant that he and Merrill were returning without Tamlen. Theron avoided their gazes as he approached Marethari.

“I’m relieved you have returned,” Marethari said. “But I did not expect to see you Duncan.”

“I did not expect to return so soon,” Duncan said.

“Dare I ask of Tamlen? What did you find of him?”

“Nothing,” Theron said. “He’s gone.”

“I see,” she turned to Merrill. “Merrill, what about the mirror?”

“I can answer that, Keeper,” Duncan said, stepping forward. “I destroyed it.”

“I had intended to use it to find a cure,” Marethari frowned at Duncan. “I trust you had good reason?”

“We have much to discuss, Keeper,” Duncan said. “I have learned a great deal.”

“We will speak privately then, in my aravel,” Marethari said. “Merrill, warn the hunters about the darkspawn. And you, da’len, allow me time to speak to Duncan. Seek me out later to discuss your cure.”

“Very well, Keeper,” Theron said.

“Tell Hahren Paivel what has occurred,” Marethari said. “He now has the sad task of preparing the service.”

Theron found Paivel tending to the communal fire. The elder looked up as Theron approached. 

“So you return with the Grey Warden,” Paivel said. “But without Tamlen. What happened da’len? Is he truly lost to us?”

Though it pierced his heart like Fen’harel’s fangs, Theron nodded. “Yes, Hahren. He is lost to us.”

Paivel sighed. “So, another of our children is perished. To think that I would live to see this. It seems the will of the Creators that I singe the dirge of those I once held as babes.”

Theron placed a hand on Paivel’s shoulder, the older elf was stooped, worn down with the weight of years and life.

“The Keeper wants you to prepare a service,” Theron said.

“Of course,” Paivel said. “We’ve no body to return to the soil, but we will sing for Tamlen. The Creators must come to guide him to the beyond. Tell the Keeper it will be done before the clan is ready to move on.”

“But what if Tamlen isn’t dead?” Theron asked, still unable to release even the slightest hope.

“We shall sing for him anyway,” Paivel said. “And pray he does not suffer.”

As Paivel set about his preparations, Theron looked around the camp. All around him, his family went about the business of breaking camp with urgency. Despite their grief, they knew the danger that delaying posed. He sighed, he could only hope that the cure would not delay them. He had no desire to linger more than necessary. Theron looked around for Merrill, but could not see her. However, he saw that Marethari and Duncan had left her aravel. He approached them, wary and anxious to discover how he was to be cured.

Duncan turned to him as he approached. “Your Keeper and I have spoken,” he said. “We have come to an arrangement. My order needs help. You need a cure. You will leave with me to join my order. I believe you will make an excellent Grey Warden.”

“Me?” Theron was taken aback. “A Grey Warden? This is madness!”

“This is not madness, da’len,” Marethari said. “Your survival depends on it.”

“How?” Theron yelled. Heads were turning towards them, he glanced around, the whole clan seemed to be listening but trying to pretend they were not. He saw Merrill entering the camp again, her eyebrows twisted in worry. She stepped towards them, Theron shook his head. He did not want her to hear what was being discussed. Not yet. “How does my becoming a Grey Warden cure my illness?” Theron asked, in a lowered tone.

“Darkspawn taint courses through your veins,” Duncan said. “Your recovery is remarkable, but eventually you will grow sick again and die. The Grey Wardens can prevent this, but it means joining us.”

“But…” Theron’s head was reeling. This could not be happening. He was dreaming. He still hadn’t asked Merrill… “Will I be able to return to my clan?”

“We do not know,” Marethari’s eyes showed that she knew what he was thinking. “But we could not watch you suffer. None of us could. Some more than others. The Grey Warden offers a way for you to survive.”

“Do not misunderstand,” Duncan said. “This is not a charity. I would not offer this if you did not have the makings of a Grey Warden. It is not likely you will return. You go to fight the darkspawn. We need you, and others like you.”

Theron ignored Duncan, speaking only to Marethari. “Is the clan sending me away?”

Marethari did not meet his gaze. “A great army of darkspawn gathers in the south, a new blight threatens the land. We cannot hope to outrun the storm. Our people agreed to help the Wardens, we must honor that agreement. Though it breaks my heart to send you away, as it would to watch you die. This is your duty and your salvation.”

“Is there no other way?” Theron asked. He felt his life being torn away from him. He had so many plans. He turned back to see Merrill, still standing at a distance.

“Who knows what the future holds?” Marethari said. “Here our paths diverge, you may never find us again. I cannot express my sadness at sending one of our own off into such danger. But if this is what the Creators intended, meet your destiny with your head held high. You are Dalish. Never forget that.”

Theron knew the decision had all ready been made. He was dead if he did not join the Grey Wardens. The thought of leaving his clan, of leaving Merrill behind, after everything he had hoped for, he thought his heart would surely split. And yet, if he were to stay, to live what little time he had left with her, only to then die and leave her anyway. He could not put her through that suffering. Better for them both to know they were alive, even if they could not be together.

“If this is my duty,” Theron said. “Then I will go.”

“I welcome you to the order,” Duncan said. “It is rare to have a Dalish among our numbers, but they have always served with distinction. It is late, and I know you will want to attend Tamlen’s service. We leave in the morning.”

“Right,” Theron said, turning away from Duncan and Marethari, towards his aravel. 

He did not slam the door. He was not a child. Theron ran his hand along the wood of his bed, it was smooth, like the blade of a well forged knife. He had never taken the time to appreciate how smooth it was. Elven shaping created from living wood what durghenlen and shem dug from the cold ground and forced into unnatural shapes. There were no seams, no rough grain. This wood was always meant to be his bed, it had just needed direction into the proper form it was to take.

Was the disease in him now the guiding hand of a shaper? Was he not yet in the form he was meant to take, and being torn from his family and all he loved was the process by which he would become who he was truly meant to be? 

He refused to believe that. Theron knew what he wanted, but what if the creators had a different path for him? He felt twisted, like the shaper was trying to make of him something he was never meant to be. If he was just a piece of wood, how could he even know what he was meant to be, when all he knew was what he wanted to be?

The door to his aravel opened. Merrill flung herself through the opening and into his arms. Her sobbing echoed how he felt on the inside, though he refused to show it. He ran his hands along her small frame, trying to remain strong against what he knew he had to do. More than anything he wanted Merrill to be happy. He could not become a ghost to her, haunting her memories in his absence.

“It’s okay,” he found himself saying.

“No it isn’t,” Merrill sobbed into his chest. “It’s not okay, and it never will be again. It doesn’t matter what happens now, I’ll loose you either way.”

“Don’t think of it like that,” Theron said. “Perhaps we won’t be together, but we’ll both still be alive.”

“That feels worse!” Merrill said, tightening her grip on his shirt. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Theron said. 

“Take me with you,” Merrill said, pushing off from his chest and looking up into his face. 

Theron shook his head. “You have no idea how much I want that. But we cannot. The clan needs you. You are the Keeper’s first, you have to be here. And where I go, I go into danger, I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“But,” Merrill started to say. Theron shushed her.

“I need to know you are safe,” he said. “Safe and alive. I want you to live your life. I want you to be happy. I wanted to be the one to make you happy. But I cannot. Please. Live your life, and forget me.”

Merrill leaned back into him, as he continued to rub her back. She ran her fingers along the seam of his shirt. Her fingers strayed into the inside of his shirt, running along his naked chest. She leaned up, reaching to cup his face with her free hand. Pulling down until their faces were almost level.

“No,” Theron said, taking her hand into his own and pulling his head back. “This isn’t right. Not like this.”

“I don’t care,” Merrill said. “If you ask me to forget you, at least give me this last memory.”

Theron could not find it in himself to deny her.

—-

It was late. Theron did not think he would sleep at all that night. Next to him Merrill was laying, he did not know if she slept, but she was silent. 

“Theron?” Merrill turned over, to face him. 

“Hmm?”

“Promise me,” she said. “You’ll do whatever you can to find us again?

He sighed. “Merrill…”

“I don’t care what you say about forgetting you,” Merrill said. “I won’t do it. And I want you to promise you will come find us. Once it’s all over.”

Merrill reached over the edge of his bed, her fingers seeking something form the pile of clothing on the floor. She came back up with something clenched in her fist. 

“I want you to take this,” she said. “This ring. It’s all I have left from my parents. I want you to have it.”

“Merrill,” Theron said. “I can’t take that from you…”

“You’ll take it!” Merrill said. “We had plans, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I’ll never want that with anyone else. I want to at least know that a part of me goes with you.” She held out the ring. Theron, after a moment’s hesitation, took it from her, slipping it on to a finger of his left hand.

“I will always have a part of you with me,” he said. “No matter what.”

—-

There were no tears as Theron departed the next day. It was not the way of the Dalish. The members of his clan gave him gifts, of armor, weapons, and provisions. His fingers crept to the gift Merrill had given him. He could feel a power pulsating from it. What it did he did not know, but Merrill had left an enchantment on it, that much he was certain of. 

Duncan waited as Theron passed through his clan, not uttering a word of good bye, the sorrow was too strong for words. As he passed by Merrill, he placed his hand on her cheek, she leaned in to it. He feared he might break down, looking into her eyes, knowing it was possibly the last time he would ever see them. He knew what he had told her. He knew that they would both be better if they forgot about each other. Lived their lives as they could. But as he looked into her eyes, he knew he could not deny himself.

He leaned forward, whispering the words, “I love you.” When he pulled back she was biting her lip, unshed tears threatening to flow free. She mouthed the words back to him, adding one last word that remained with Theron as he left everything he had ever loved.

_Forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for taking so long on this one. It's longer than normal and this is the chapter length or around that I hope to have for future chapters. I intend not to take quite so long on the next one.


End file.
